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The publishing house "Briedis" presents a novel – the book "War. Chechen Tragedy". He is a well-known Russian journalist, a violent critic of the current Kremlin critic, Arkady Babchenko. Until the 1920s, he took part in the first Chechen war (1994-1996), then in the second (1999-2009).
As he has repeatedly acknowledged in his interview, Babcenka first adhered to the state 's leading pseudo – patriotic regulations, desiring adventures and breathtaking feats, but his attitude towards many things has gradually begun to change. Arkadi soon realized that his native Russia was finally turning to hate, escalating tensions, aggression against its neighbors and opening minds by other means. In the direction of the most terrible dictatorship
After criticism of the Moscow authorities and its policies, the author began to raise felony files, anonymous threats have stopped. Staying in Russia meant being imprisoned or saying goodbye to life. 2017 In February, Babcenko moved to Kiev, where he persuasively and strongly criticized the looting actions of the Kremlin regime against Ukraine.
2018 In May, the whole world was shaken by the news of A. Babchenko's death, but it soon became apparent that the creation of death was a secret operation of the Ukrainian security services to detain murdered journalists by Russian services. Currently, A. Babchenko is protected, he is forced to live relatively sober, but does not stop doing activities.
The author of the book War: Tragedy of Chechnya remembers his experience of the war in Chechnya, when an eighteen-year-old naïve entered directly into a meat grinder. The book depicts Russian troops as rockets, heavy artillery, gangs of criminals armed with planes and tanks. The war for such is the possibility of unrestricted rape, looting and a prison escape. It is dominated by sadistic impulses and unbridled greed. Not only is the army destroyed, but all socialism begins to live according to the model of the prison, to follow the principles of democracy. This, according to A. Babchenko, is the most terrible.
We do not know why we are fighting. We have no purpose, a moral justification. Send us to death and do not be clear why <...>. Everyone in the same horde hates everything, above the square, having heard a big cloud, madness and hatred – and this cloud is thrown out like citric acid: before it's over. send to a chopper, do not fear or hate. It's easier to stick.
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Extract
The battles are fought in Grozny. No one crushes the corpses of the streets. They rest on asphalt, on the sidewalk, between trees planted with wood, as if they belonged to that city. From time to time, armored vehicles have jumped out of their minds at gigantic speeds. Sometimes they are overthrown by explosions. Bones slightly braided on burned machines.
The street shot is about to change the silhouettes to skirt. Many of them, they tear from the sidewalk to the sidewalk, stop at the mbadacre. Sometimes they turn the body on their backs and look at their faces for a long time.
There is no way of knowing what's in here, and the silhouettes approach our block block at that time
– What kind of mountain men, what, guys? Well, maybe the Germans wear skirts like Scotland here?
All Silent
The streets on the corpses are full of hangings, and the ghosts are clogged between the ragged bodies …
does not survive and is not shawn. Two other three contribute: they are able to shoot several times and even beat one of the silhouettes when the voices scream on the other side.
The women shout in Russian, and we finally realize: because they are the mothers of the soldiers, the Zionists came looking for missing sons and now try to find them among these corrupt bodies!
– Do not shoot! – The killer is crying. – Do not shoot, here are the mothers! Here are our mothers!
Several women ran to the one who was standing. It hurts, raises it and carries it in the courts.
Mothers are the most difficult in this war. They do not belong to one side or the other. At Chbad and Severn, the Russian generals shake their hands, our soldiers do not let them spend the night in the battalions and shoot at the posts.
The Czechs take them to the mountains, rape them, kill them and kill their veins for their dogs. That was even told me by the priest who was released.
Everyone rescued them, this Russian woman, they are killed by dozens, but they still clung to Chechnya with photos, looking for their sons.
Even more mothers. They go from one body to another, long searching the skeletons of their sad-faced mouths. Never do it, it's very hot now – it's hard to breathe near corpses.
A woman still finds a son. On command, she gives him a car and she brings her body to Chbad
No other body goes.
– No, the Russians, – shout from home, no! We will not shoot! Let's go!
The next night, they open a bulldozer and bang the bodies in the pits. They do not disturb them – and they bury them overnight.
Nochts kills our captured captives. Flails us from the other side of the street to attract attention and show soldiers. The guys are beaten, their hands tied behind their backs. Czechs laugh and shout about something in their own language, then quickly make captive on the asphalt side, pressing his head against the ground and double-clicking on the knife in the throat. The boy is silent, shakes his hands with his wrists and drops his black throat from the asphalt of his throat.
The Czechs leave the corner, letting him die on the road. The soldier sits on the side for a long time, then begins to stumble. He wrings his hands with his hands and tries to cross as it was embarrbading to lie down. Then he disappears again. While moving, the boy is in pain, so he leans over the side of his throat, and the black jet continues to flow and pour. When he seems like he's dead, he starts trampling again and tries to sneak up. It's still finished. It lasts a very long time. The blood throws him out of his throat and stains his face. The kite fell to the elbows – when the guy moves his hands, the blood from the artery is injected onto his shoulder.
– Swings! – Do not keep the drum. Breathe and scream through the blocks, no longer have the power to watch: – Finish finally! Let's go!
He lifts the machine, but Osipov and Kilpele are able to grab the pipe. They prick the hands of the drummer and press against the ground.
The drum sticks and pulls a tangled head with both hands
– Pumps, pumps, pumps, – it whispers.
Soon, the guy starts going out. He has trouble breathing. He throws blood in his throat. Sometimes a boy loses his consciousness and sleeps a long time, then he comes back to consciousness, and he tries to slip again.
When the cessation ceases to move, the Czechs shoot him in the scrapers. The lobes invade the body and ricochet to the sky.
For other prisoners, the Czechs also arrest an execution. They do not leave the corner, we hear only rumors. Each time, before squeezing his throat, he says: "Alach akbar." He cries a few times. After an hour, put corpses in the street.
You can buy a book here
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